


honey, make this easy

by steebadore



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bruises, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Hand Feeding, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Overstimulation, Pinching, Prostate Milking, but sir those are my emotional support pet names, chubby bucky, heavily implied daddy kink, proto sugar baby bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steebadore/pseuds/steebadore
Summary: Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, we're fresh out of substance here. it's just dicks out as far as the eye can see. this is extremely tropey and self-indulgent and i make no apologies. 
> 
> this was heavily inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/VenusMonstrosa/status/1159568137530032129) and a conversation i had with corarochester, tangentially related to her fic [good water pressure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19622722), which features my true loves: big baby bucky and small daddy steve.

Bucky'd discovered the tenth floor on accident. He'd gotten onto the elevator while reading an article entitled _Infant Werewolves: How Dozens of Babies Across Spain Developed Lycan Syndrome_ and by the time the doors opened had learned that the children were not actually exhibiting any werewolf traits (disappointing) but had actually been dosed with alopecia medication (boring). Also: he was on the wrong floor. This floor was clearly undergoing some renovations—there was plastic on the bare cement floors and everything from the piled up paint buckets to the plastic wrapped reception desk was coated in a fine layer of white dust. 

And anyway, now he thinks of the tenth floor as his own personal escape room. It turns out that the actual renovation work only happens after hours to spare the rest of the building's tenants any disruption, and the bathroom is perfectly intact. He doesn't go up there a lot—after the first time, he made a rule that he's only allowed to go twice a week at most, and only if he's really upset—but he heads up there now, directly after his two o'clock meeting.

He likes the way his new velvet loafers sound on the empty bathroom's tile, crisp clicks that echo faintly off the gleaming white and silver fixtures of the room, nothing soft enough to absorb the sound. Except for him. He's the softest thing on this whole floor, and for the next ten minutes, he doesn't have to pretend to be anything else. He feels the muscles in his shoulders loosen minutely as he clicks the lock on the door and walks to the counter in front of the mirrors to examine himself. He likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve's. 

Bucky runs a finger down his chest, finding all the little bruised up places and pressing hard, just to see his face go dumb with it in the mirror. He fits his thumb over that spot on his hip bone where Steve had held him down this morning, imagines how it must look now. Like a petal pressed between the pages of a closed book. 

That's what he is; every weekday, a book closed on itself, insides compressed into nothing under the weight of the cover. Until Steve pries him back open. Bucky imagines the way he'd fall open so easily to Steve's favorite page, the muscle memory held in his spine of all the times Steve'd cracked him open and held him down at just this spot, dog earing his corners and writing notes in Bucky's margins. _Property of Steve Rogers_ scrawled inside his front cover, right next to his heart.

He breathes out a shaky breath and unbuttons his pants, pulling them down just enough to see the purple smudge over his hip and the bit of pale pink silk and lace riding just below it. His body goes loose and his gut goes tight at the sight, at the sense memory of Steve's big hand holding him in place while he fucked his cock in deep, his other hand pinching at the soft meat of Bucky's thigh. _We gotta get this little hole fed up first thing, don't we, baby? Hungry little thing. _

Bucky squeezes his thighs together at the spear of heat in his gut and feels the ache of the bruise on his thigh. He tugs his pants down farther, widening his stance, but can't quite see the whole of it. He has no choice but to toe off his shoes and remove his pants altogether, folding them neatly on the counter and hopping up beside them. The marble is cool against his bare thighs and the soles of his feet when he braces them against the edge and spreads his legs to get a better look. 

"Oh," Bucky breathes out, the sound loud in the empty bathroom. A bruise about the size of a silver dollar sits high on his pale thigh, a purple so deep it's almost black that shoots sparks up his spine when he presses on it. He fumbles for his phone in the pocket of his folded pants and snaps a picture to send to Steve. 

_Pretty_, he types and hits send. He pulls the photo back up, admiring the splay of his soft thighs, the way his left thumb makes an indent in his flesh beside the bruise. The sweet pink of his panties and the curve of his belly above them. He knows what it'll do to Steve. What Steve will do to him for it later. 

His phone buzzes less than a minute later, a call rather than the text he was expecting. He grabs for his earbuds and picks up. "Hi," he says shyly, his chest going tight and warm with the attention. 

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asks, his voice gentle with concern. He knows what it means when Bucky's hiding in the bathroom. 

"Yeah, just needed a minute," Bucky says quietly. 

"And that minute included taking your pants off and sending me dirty pictures while I'm trying to work?" Steve says, full of amusement and something deeper that thrums in Bucky's bones. 

"I wanted to—I was remembering," Bucky says a little shakily. 

"Yeah?" Steve says. "You remembering who you belong to, little baby?"

"You," Bucky says, heart swelling and heat skating down his chest. 

"That's right, sweetheart. You still all spread out for me? I bet you are. Needy little thing like you can't keep your legs closed for long."

Bucky's gut clenches at the truth of it, his knees spreading wider just at the sound of Steve's voice. "Yeah," he says in a small voice.

"What do you think I'd do if I was there?" Steve asks. 

Bucky swallows hard, his eyes fluttering closed as he imagines it. He digs his thumb into the bruise as he says, "suck—suck on them. My bruises."

"Yeah, I know how you like me to make you all pretty," Steve says, voice going all low and honeyed. "Bet you look real pretty right now, your little clit all fat and wet in your panties, huh? You touching it, sweetheart?"

"Steve." Bucky makes a little strangled noise. "No."

"Why not?" he asks, like he doesn't know good and well. 

"'m not allowed," Bucky whispers. 

"That's my good girl," Steve croons and Bucky's whole body contracts around the words. He imagines himself like a sea anemone, clamping his tentacles tight around his prize and sucking it down into his hungry mouth. Stowing it safe inside him. 

"Know what I'd do if I was there? Think I'd pull those sweet panties aside and eat that little pussy for lunch. It still wet for me, honey?" 

"Uh huh," Bucky moans, rubbing a finger over the little damp patch from Steve leaking out of him this morning. Showering only helps so much on the nights he stays over, when Steve fucks him to sleep and fucks him awake and sometimes fucks him again after breakfast just for good measure. Leaves him loose and sloppy, fucked out and filled up like a helium balloon wobbling its way toward the ceiling. 

"That means I fed it good, huh? Got you all filled up and ready for the day. You want me to put my mouth on it later?"

"Yeah, please," Bucky says quickly, unable to keep from rocking against the finger still pressed against his hole. He feels shameless and dirty and strung tight with the need to be touched. "Need you now." His voice comes out small and upset, and he winces at the truth in it. 

"Aw, honey," Steve says, voice gentling and Bucky knows if he was in range he'd be getting two big hands stroking firm and sure down his back, can almost feel the weight and the warmth of them now. "I know. You sure you're okay? Need me to come get you?"

_Yes_, a part of Bucky's brain screams, but he knows he can't give into it. "No," he says, letting out a breath. "I'm okay. Can I come over tonight, though?"

"Buck," Steve says with a tired sigh, the old frustration flaring to life inside it. "In five years, when have you ever needed to ask? I always want you here, you know that." 

Bucky raps a fist against his forehead gently, deliberately. That's not what he meant. "I know, I just meant—I don't usually come over on Wednesdays. Wasn't sure if you were working late or anything."

"I might have a few things to wrap up, but nothing major. You want me to send you a car?"

Bucky huffs a laugh. "It's ten blocks, Steve."

"Ten more blocks than you need to walk if you don't feel like it."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he's smiling despite himself. "I think I can manage it. I could pick up dinner?"

"You just get yourself here and let me worry about the rest, okay? I'll see you in a few hours, sweetheart. Love you."

"Love you too," Bucky watches himself say in the mirror. His face is flushed, eyes a little glassy and dark, lips bitten red. He looks good. He snaps another picture for Steve. _Can't wait to see you._

Steve responds immediately. _There's my pretty baby. See you soon. Be good. _

Bucky pulls on his pants and straightens the collar of his shirt, tucking all his soft bits away behind his exoskeleton, and heads back downstairs, armor once more intact.

* * *

Steve sits splayed on the couch when Bucky lets himself in, his thick thighs spread in unselfconscious invitation, one arm resting on the back of the couch, the other holding his tablet. "Hey," he says, eyes eating Bucky up as he toes off his shoes and set down his bag. "Come here." 

Bucky plants himself neatly in Steve's lap, and all that solid warmth converges around him. He presses his face to Steve's neck and sighs and Steve's big hand runs down his back in firm strokes, the other stealing beneath his hair to rub at his neck and make him go boneless. "Hi," Bucky says after a moment, lips brushing against the steady pulse in Steve's neck. 

"Hi, baby," Steve says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Your day get any better?"

Bucky shrugs. "It wasn't bad, it's just…what it always is. Monthly meeting, all the guys talking about football or golf or their pretty blonde wives with the eyelashes out to there." He sighs. "Sometimes it's just hard to keep pretending."

The truth is, Bucky loves what he does. It took him a lot of years to make it to being the senior fashion editor of a men's lifestyle magazine, and even if the rest of the publication runs more toward the hetero fuckboy demographic than he'd prefer, most days he genuinely enjoys his work. It's everything else that's hard to navigate. He's out at work, and everyone is generally cool with it, but sometimes it feels more like an open secret than a fact he's freely shared. 

They don't hassle him when he braids or curls his hair, when he wears nail polish or eye makeup, but they don't acknowledge it either. They don't ask him about his boyfriend, or anything about his life outside of work, like it might be impolite of them to bring up the fact that he is a gay man in a queer relationship. And maybe Bucky doesn't bring it up much either because of who Steve is, but it would be nice to feel like he could, if the mood struck. It's stifling, to have such a significant part of him overlooked so completely.

"And you didn't want to tell them about your pretty blond wife with the eyelashes?" Steve asks, a laugh in his voice that tells Bucky he's batting his stupid eyes.

Bucky, hits in him the thigh. "Your eyelashes are ridiculous," he says. "And you're not my wife."

"I could be though," Steve says gently, and Bucky's heart does something complicated in his chest, trying to run away and swell up at the same time, and ending up lodged awkwardly in his throat. Like a sparrow trapped in a chimney, flapping around frantically for the exit. 

"Steve," he says, his voice gone all shaky. 

"I know, I know," Steve says, rubbing his back and then tugging on the ends of his hair gently. "Hey come here, sit up for a second."

Bucky sits up slowly, knowing he looks petulant and pathetic, face all red and his eyes a little wet. Steve cups his face in both broad hands, thumbs brushing rough over the his pouting mouth. "I like this top on you, sweetheart. Knew you'd look pretty in it."

Bucky blushes and can't help preening just a little, straightening his shoulders and arching his back. "Thank you."

Steve's eyes flick down to his chest, drawn like magnets, and Bucky smirks even as his nipples tighten up at the attention. Steve might be easy, but Bucky's body has been trained to give it up at the slightest invitation. 

Steve gives a nipple a gentle tweak and smiles when Bucky squirms. "I'll take care of those later." 

Bucky pouts. "Why not now?" 

"Because I want to talk to you for a second," Steve says simply. 

Bucky deflates. "Ugh." 

"Hey," Steve admonishes, putting pressure on Bucky's neck until he has no choice but to move as directed, letting himself be kissed sweet again.

"I don't want to fight," Steve begins when he lets Bucky straighten up again, hands coming to rest at his hips. His thumb fits right over the faint purple ache Bucky can still feel throbbing gently. He reaches down a hand to press Steve's thumb down harder, and Steve indulges him, squeezing tight enough to make the little hurt grow teeth. He feels steadier, held in its jaws. 

"Better?" Steve asks. 

Bucky nods warily. "Go ahead."

"I don't want to fight," Steve says again. "I know you love your work, and I'm so proud of how hard you've worked to get here—no, come on, look at me." He leans down to catch Bucky's eyes again when they slide away, his expression unbearably tender, that bird in Bucky's throat fluttering ominously. "_I am. _But if this job is making you this unhappy, I just want to remind you that you have options. You can quit and move in here and—"

"And be your little housewife?" Bucky interrupts bitterly, though there is a part of him that thrums to life at the thought. He can picture his carefully framed Viramontes and Eula prints hung amid Steve's originals. Their shampoo bottles side by side in the shower, two toothbrushes necking in the cup by the sink. He can see how Steve would come up behind him while Bucky is brushing his teeth. He'd slide one big warm hand over Bucky's belly and the other into his hair. He'd kiss up on his neck and pull him close, grind up against Bucky's ass and Bucky would giggle and spray toothpaste flecks all over the mirror and—

And all that happens anyway. Carbon copies of Bucky's toothbrush and shampoo already live at Steve's, the alternate universe versions of the ones in his own apartment. Bucky already starts four mornings out of seven getting loved on and spoiled and it's enough. It is. 

"And be whatever you want, baby," Steve says gently, rubbing hard at his hip bones. "You could look for something else, or you could freelance, whatever you want, and I'd take care of the rest for you. Keep your apartment, even, if you want to. I just want to take care of you." He says it so easily, earnest blue eyes locked tight on Bucky's, a tractor beam Bucky's too weak to even try to struggle against. "I hate seeing you unhappy, Buck. You deserve better than this."

"I know," Bucky says, letting his forehead rest against Steve's. He bites the inside of his lip, trying to keep the impulsive words queuing up behind his teeth at bay. The doorman's drunk with yearning, asleep at his post. It would be so easy to give in, to let himself have this. But he can't shake the feeling that it's more than he deserves, that it would somehow unbalance the scales, give the universe no choice but to even the score.

"You don't have to give me an answer now, but I want you to think about it, okay?" Steve says, giving Bucky's hips one last squeeze to make the implicit order clear. Steve won't let it go this time. 

"Okay," Bucky says quietly. 

"Good," Steve says decisively, giving Bucky a soft kiss. "Now I'm going to order us some dinner and then I've got to do a little bit of work until it gets here. You want to go take a bath while we wait, relax a little?" 

Bucky shakes his head. "Can I just sit here with you?"

"Of course," Steve says, and situates Bucky so he can lean forward and grab his tablet. Bucky rests his head on Steve's shoulder and watches as he brings up schematics for god knows what, flicking his fingers so the holo-screen appears in front of them. Every now and then he murmurs something out loud to Jarvis, who is no doubt recording his notes somewhere Steve can easily retrieve and analyze later. 

It's so boring. Steve'd passed on the shield to Sam long before he and Bucky even met, and Bucky's grateful that he mostly spends his time training new recruits and doing tactical analysis instead of risking himself in the field, but it doesn't mean he's particularly interested in the details when they just look like geometric blue lines on a screen. He eases himself down to rest his head in Steve's lap, pressing his face to Steve's stomach and closing his eyes. 

He can tell Steve didn't shower when he got home, and the smell of him makes Bucky's brain go quiet and his gut go warm. He mouths at the little bit of skin visible between Steve's shirt and the top of his sweats, running his tongue against the coarse blonde hair and savoring the clean salt taste of his skin. Steve's hand comes to rest on his head, a reminder and a warning to be good. But it's not Bucky's fault that Steve smells so good and that he can see the fat ridge of Steve's cock pressed up against the fabric of his sweats. Bucky has to swallow back some spit at the thought of even having Steve's soft cock in his mouth. 

Like he knows—and maybe he does, maybe Steve can tell the way Bucky's dick aches and his balls go tight at the thought, maybe he can hear Bucky's blood rushing downward, can smell the way he's wetting up his panties again, because Steve tugs on his hair until Bucky's looking up into his wry face. "If I let you have it, are you gonna be good for me?" he asks, amused and knowing. 

Bucky's whole body heats, a slow boil of shame and anticipation. "Yeah, I'll be good. Please."

Steve sets down his tablet on the arm of the couch and uses Bucky's hair to pull him out of the way, his other hand shoving down his sweats to pull out his cock. It's fattened up just a little, and Bucky wants to feel it thicken up on his tongue, plug up his throat. 

"Open up," Steve murmurs, pulling Bucky close again by his hair and feeding a few inches of his cock into his mouth until the tip of him brushes the back of Bucky's throat. He lets go, letting Bucky rest his head on his thigh, and taps Bucky's nose. "No sucking, just hold it."

Bucky whines around his mouthful, eyes begging Steve for just a little more. Steve grins. "Never satisfied, are you?" He rubs at the line of drool already starting to slip from Bucky's mouth. "You don't need to rile yourself up before dinner. Just be still, baby."

Steve goes back to his tablet, and Bucky watches him for a moment, eyes growing heavy. Steve's intent on his work, even with Bucky's mouth on him, eyes narrowed in concentration, the creases at the corners making him look so serious and stern. The fine threads of silver in his hair and beard glint in the low lamplight when Steve glances down at him, his plush pink mouth curving up just a little, the shape of the smile that's just for Bucky. His heart trembles under the weight of it. 

"Doing okay?" Steve asks, running a hand through Bucky's hair. 

Bucky sighs and lets his eyes fall closed. He imagines himself a tiny stone sinking to the bottom of a sun-warmed pond, water swallowing him up, pushing him down with its weight until he rests on the soft, sandy bottom. The pressure of that water all around him, holding him in place, its currents rubbing at him, rounding off his edges, making him shiny and smooth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky feels himself go soft as the spoonful of ice cream Steve feeds him, moaning around it when Steve ducks down to press cool kisses to his neck. He feeds him another bite, and another, eyes going dark and hungry as he watches Bucky's mouth part around the spoon. Bucky feels drunk with it; the unwavering, avaricious attention, Steve's hand rubbing possessively at his thigh, reminding him he's spread open over Steve's lap. He can feel Steve hard under his ass, can't help but grind back against it, lazy and anticipatory. A cat who knows the cream is imminent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, at least it's out of my system now.

"Captain Rogers, your dinner is on its way up. Would you like me to hold the elevator?" Jarvis' voice is quiet, the closest an AI can come to a whisper, and Bucky feels himself resurfacing slowly, swimming back up toward the light with wobbly limbs. 

"Yes, thanks, Jarvis," Steve says quietly above him, and Bucky opens his eyes to see Steve's fond smile. He cups Bucky's face, rubbing a rough thumb along his cheekbone. "You ready to get up and eat, honey?"

Bucky doesn't feel ready for words just yet, and to be honest isn't sure he still has a body, let alone if it requires food, but he allows Steve to pull him up and settle him on the the couch, blinking slowly as Steve grins down at him and thumbs away the drool on his chin. Bucky presses a kiss to his wet thumb with numb lips, and Steve makes a pleased humming sound. 

"You can let him up now, J," he says, adjusting his pants and heading toward the door. Bucky is glad the sweats are dark enough that the delivery person won't be able to see the massive drool patch he left on the thigh. Oops. 

They eat dinner on the couch, watching the next episode of Monty Don traipsing through European gardens, and Steve tells Bucky the latest story of Billy and Teddy's sweet idiocy and that he made plans for them to go out with Nat and Sam next weekend, and everything feels back in balance. 

When they're done, Steve opens up the little container of gelato he ordered with dinner, gone a touch melty just how Bucky likes it, and beckons Bucky back into his lap. Bucky feels himself go soft as the spoonful of ice cream Steve feeds him, moaning around it when Steve ducks down to press cool kisses to his neck. He feeds him another bite, and another, eyes going dark and hungry as he watches Bucky's mouth part around the spoon. Bucky feels drunk with it; the unwavering, avaricious attention, Steve's hand rubbing possessively at his thigh, reminding him he's spread open over Steve's lap. He can feel Steve hard under his ass, can't help but grind back against it, lazy and anticipatory. A cat who knows the cream is imminent. 

"Want it," he slurs around the last bite, teeth clicking against the spoon. A mess, but Steve kisses his sticky mouth anyway, tongue fucking in sure and deep until Bucky's panting for it, hands clutching in Steve's shirt, body going loose in his hold. Steve's wet mouth drags along his cheek, down his neck, sucking gently. The only place Bucky doesn't like marks. 

_For now_, his treacherous brain offers. 

"You always want it," Steve says against his neck, low and fond. "Fucked you twice already today, isn't that enough? Little hole's gotta be sore."

Bucky shakes his head, whining when Steve scrapes his teeth gently down his neck. "Like it. You can kiss it better after."

Steve laughs. "Spoiled little slut." His fingers make quick work of the buttons on Bucky's shirt, sighing reverently when he reveals silk and lace instead of skin. "Pretty," he says quietly, running a finger over Bucky's pebbled nipple pressing against the pale pink silk of his camisole. Steve dips down to suck it into his mouth, pulling hard so Bucky gasps and arches against it. His mouth is red and wet when he pulls back, hands coming up to pinch Bucky's nipples meanly, pulling and plucking at them until Bucky is squirming in his lap and making breathless broken noises. _It's so good._

Steve's eyes never leave his face, watching Bucky go hot and pliant with the little bit of pain laying a trail of sparks from his chest to his balls. "Want me to mark these pretty tits up tonight, baby? Make you so sore tomorrow you won't be able to take a breath without thinking of me."

"Think about you all the time anyway," Bucky gasps out, eyes already going wet at the corners. 

"Yeah?" Steve says, pushing Bucky's shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Bucky's too far gone to care about it getting wrinkled. "I bet you do. Sitting at your desk, wetting up your panties thinking about getting fucked. I'd plug you up if I didn't think you'd just play with yourself all day." He grins and shakes his head indulgently, pinching at Bucky's soft stomach through the silk. "My girl can't help herself, huh?"

"Uh uh." Bucky shakes his head, going easy for it like he always does when Steve talks filth in that low, patronizing voice. 

"That's why you need my help," Steve says, bending forward to bite down on Bucky's nipple, worrying it with his teeth. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Bucky moans, arching against the pull of Steve's teeth, drawing it out. "Need you."

"What do you need, baby? Tell me," Steve murmurs, sliding the thin strap of Bucky's camisole off his shoulder and sucking kisses along his neck.

"Touch me," Bucky gasps, head lolling back, his nerves shuddering just under his skin. Steve bites kisses up Bucky's jaw to his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip until it feels fat and sore. "Uh, please," Bucky begs, hips jerking and his voice going high and strained when Steve gives his nipples a rough twist.

"Why don't you take off these clothes and show me where you need it." Steve leans back against the couch expectantly. 

Steve's hands grasp Bucky's hips to steady him when he slides off Steve's lap onto shaky legs. He fumbles with the button on his pants, blushing under Steve's hot stare when he has to wiggle a little to get them over his hips. 

Steve traces the line of Bucky's cock through the wet pink silk. "Look at you, making a mess of yourself," he murmurs, and Bucky shudders and tries not to jerk into his touch. 

Steve leans forward and licks over the wet head of him. "This where you need it, honey?" he asks, mouthing at him through the damp fabric. 

Bucky makes a strangled noise when Steve sucks at him. "Yeah," he moans, and then, remembering: "no—you said—" He shudders and clutches at Steve's hair when Steve peels the underwear down Bucky's thighs and draws the head of his cock into his mouth. "Steve," he whines. 

"I know," he murmurs, flicking at Bucky's inner thighs with the backs of his fingers. "Just want a little taste, open up for me sweetheart."

Bucky shuffles to comply, spreading as wide as the lace banded around his thighs will allow, closing his eyes when he feels Steve's wet mouth drag across the tight skin of his balls, licking and sucking gently. "Please," he gasps when Steve's teeth scrape down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and bite down on the dark bruise. He sucks hard, drawing that ache into a shivery scream, pulling all Bucky's blood to the surface to pulse like a second heart. Bucky lets out a little choked off scream when Steve switches sides and sinks his teeth deep into the soft meat of Bucky's unmarked thigh, his legs nearly giving out at the bright burst of white hot static in his head. 

Steve yanks at Bucky's panties and pulls him roughly back into his lap, leaving a red hot burn on his outer thighs. "I liked those," Bucky mumbles, the words feeling too big for his slack, lazy mouth. 

"They were in my way," Steve says, pulling off Bucky's camisole and setting his teeth over his collarbone. "I'll buy you more." He slides both hands under Bucky's soft pecs, rubbing his thumbs over his nipples in rough circles. "Look at these pretty fat tits, baby."

"You should talk," Bucky huffs, blushing and squirming.

Steve raises an eyebrow and pinches hard at Bucky's nipples. "Mine don't look like this, honey," he says, cupping one and jiggling it in his palm as though to prove his point. "Soft girl tits, all this smooth skin. Put you in a lacy little bra, no one would know the difference. And these," he says, twisting Bucky's nipples tight between thumb and forefingers, making them ache and swell. "Always begging for it, aren't they sweetheart?"

Bucky flushes hot, the truth of it slinking through him to pool in his gut. "Yeah—oh," he whimpers when Steve releases a nipple to lick at it gently, his soft wet tongue a soothing tease. "Steve, please."

"I know," Steve placates, and bites down. 

Time goes slow and sweet. The whole world distills to Steve and his hungry mouth on Bucky's chest, rough hands working over skin gone wet and tender, pressing the hot ache of it deeper, drawing it out. Bucky goes soft as boiled sugar in contrast, head slowly filling with a gentle rush of static, the strictures of the day fading into background noise as he lets himself fall into the space where he doesn't have to be anything but Steve's. It's a relief to become Steve's sweet little slut, fuck-hungry and desperate for attention. 

He hadn't known it could be like this, hadn't even considered the possibility existed until Steve wrapped him up in all his tender intensity and cracked him wide open, plucking out all those tender bits that lived hidden in the dark, and cradling them in the light. Steve cleared a space, made it safe for Bucky to be soft and vulnerable when he needs it—and the thing they're both learning is: Bucky nearly always needs it. 

"You with me, Buck?" Steve says, pulling his mouth away with a wet sound. He leans back against the couch and looks Bucky over with a heady combination of avarice and possession. Like it'll never be enough until he consumes Bucky whole, swallows him down in big, greedy bites so he's caged safe somewhere inside him. And Bucky'd make a little home there, in that warm secret place behind his ribs, shut inside the clocktower of Steve's heart. 

"'m with you," Bucky slurs. He been rutting shamelessly against Steve's stomach, the fabric of Steve's shirt gone wet and abrasive, scraping the too-sensitive skin of his dick with every uncontrolled jerk of his hips. His chest is a symphony of pulse beats, gone swollen and hot under Steve's attention. Hundreds of tiny homing beacons, a map of where Steve's touched him. 

"Always go so sweet for it," Steve murmurs, watching Bucky's face go slack and dumb when he pets wet fingers over his hole. He tugs him down with a hand on his neck and licks at Bucky's wet cheeks, kisses him with a salty, swollen mouth. 

"They make you up special for me, sweetheart?" he says, slipping two fingers in and smiling when Bucky moans and arches into it reflexively. He fucks them in shallowly, glancing against that spot inside Bucky that makes his gut go hot and tight. 

"Yeah," Bucky breaths, dragging his mouth against Steve's in a sloppy kiss. He spreads his knees wider over Steve's lap, arching his back to take more. 

"That's right," Steve hums. "Someone looked at me and said, that man needs a sweet little thing to play with, didn't they?" He pets a hand down Bucky's sweaty hair, then gathers it into his fist. Not to pull, just to hold him in place. Just to see Bucky wince when he tries to nod. "They said, better give them the sluttiest holes you ever saw, too. And here you are. My own pretty little fuckdoll."

"Steve," Bucky whines, straining against the hand in his hair to hide his hot face in Steve's neck, but Steve never lets him hide, not like this. He watches Bucky's face as the words hum through him like an electric charge, settling deep in his guts to pulse along with his shame and the horrible pleasure of being so known. 

"What, baby?" Steve asks, brow all furrowed with fake concern. "You don't want to be my little fuckdoll?"

Bucky swallows hard, tears prickling behind his eyes. He doesn't know how Steve always manages to get him here: the intersection of too much and exactly what he needs. "I do," he whispers. "I am."

Steve brushes his lips against Bucky's trembling mouth. "What are you, sweetheart? Tell me," he murmurs.

"Don't make me say it," Bucky mumbles against his lips, feeling ridiculous and pleased that Steve is this far gone too, spouting nonsense filth and looking at Bucky with eyes gone hungry and dark. 

Steve laughs, low and a little mocking. "You don't have to say it, honey. We both know it's what you are. Look at you," he says, slipping in a third finger and hooking his thumb up behind Bucky's balls, rubbing the smooth skin in time with his fingers. Bucky moans, arching as far as he can go with Steve's hand still fisted in his hair. Ass up and open for Steve, rolling his hips back to meet the slow thrust of his fingers. 

"Quit teasing," Bucky whines. The dual pressure on his prostate makes a spring coil in his gut, but Steve's not going fast or deep enough to make him come, just maddening pressure that keeps him on the aching edge of it. 

Steve huffs a laugh. "Got you so spoiled that three fingers in your ass is just a tease now?"

"Your dick is bigger," Bucky says, straining against Steve's hold to press wet kisses to his jaw. "Want it."

Steve hums, looking Bucky over absently as though considering his request. "Okay," he says finally, and shoves Bucky face first into the couch. 

Bucky's startled giggle chokes off into a satisfied moan when Steve shoves into him a moment later. He'll never be over the way it feels when Steve pushes up inside him, the thick stretch of his cock, the heavy fullness, the blunt fat head of him stroking unerringly over his prostate with every thrust. Steve's thumb fits into that bruise on his hip, the other hand pressing between Bucky's shoulderblades so his sucked-sore chest and the tip of his dick rub against the fabric of the couch. It's rough against his bruised up skin, scraping against him with every thrust, lighting up the inside of his head. 

Steve shifts, leaning over and pressing Bucky into the couch with the weight of his warm body, hooking his hands around Bucky's shoulders and driving in deep. "The sounds you make when you get some dick in you, baby," he growls.

He feels surrounded, swallowed up by Steve. Rough voice in his ear, hot breath on his skin. Holding him down, pumping him full. The bruising force of Steve's thrusts, the blooming ache in Bucky's gut that grips him tight like a fist, clenching and releasing tighter and faster until Bucky's mindless with it, keening and thrashing under Steve, trying to get more, get it faster, all of it, he needs it. 

Steve's hand snakes under Bucky to wrap around his cock. "Please," Bucky cries, begging for it even as Steve's giving it to him, fucking him into his callused fingers with the brutal momentum of his hips. 

"Look at you, crying so pretty for it. Don't I always give it to you? Always gonna give you what you need, sweetheart," Steve rasps, breathless and a little desperate when Bucky shudders and tightens up. Steve bites down hard on his shoulder and Bucky whites out, jerking messily into Steve's fist, hole clenching up around the relentless drive of Steve's cock. 

"There you go, baby," Steve grunts, fucking him through the aftershocks. He pulls his hand away when Bucky whines, painting come-wet fingers over Bucky's panting mouth before slipping them in, sour and sloppy. Bucky sucks lazily at them, mouth gone slack and drooling and occasionally whimpering when Steve hits at his over-sensitive prostate. The jangly nerve feeling sparks up his spine, making him tighten and shiver around the thick wet plunge of Steve's cock. 

This is is favorite part: laying boneless under Steve, letting himself be used. Satisfied but never sated. Always hungry for it. 

"Take it so good, perfect little hole," Steve gasps, driving in deep and shuddering, pulsing wet and warm inside Bucky and settling sweaty and panting on top of him. He runs his lips over Bucky's shoulder, his damp hairline, the shell of his ear. 

"Heavy," Bucky groans after a moment, and finds himself neatly adjusted until he's on his side, pressed to Steve's chest. "Love you," he says on a deep sigh, snuggling into the warm bulk of him.

"Me or my dick?" Steve says, tugging on the ends of Bucky's sweaty hair.

"What's the difference?" Bucky squirms and squawks out a giggle when Steve digs his fingers into the soft, ticklish meat of his side. "Okay, okay, both, stop!"

Steve hums, running firm hands down Bucky's back, palming the swell of his ass and pressing him closer, hitching him up, one big thigh pressing between Bucky's legs and two fingers rubbing at this sore hole. "Beg for it and then you just spit it out," Steve says, admonishing, running a thumb through the wet, leaking mess and feeding it back into Bucky. He slips two fingers in easy, pressing firm circles against that swollen ache inside. 

"'s too much," Bucky whines, shuddering through the overstimulation and pressing closer anyway, rubbing himself against Steve's hairy thigh, a coarse contrast to his smooth, sensitive skin. 

"I know you got one more for me, honey," Steve says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his wet eye. "I don't give it to you now, you'll just be crying for it again in an hour." He holds him close while Bucky squirms and whines as Steve's thick fingers slowly unravel him. The orgasm is dragged from him by inches, the sharp ache of it clawing through him until he is a twitching and sobbing mess, spent cock drooling pathetically onto Steve's leg.

Steve wraps him up, petting him and murmuring sweet things until his tremors ease and his whimpers quiet. "There you are, sweetheart," he says when Bucky lifts his head to seek out Steve's mouth. "Okay, Buck?"

"Mmm," Bucky hums, pressing a clumsy kiss to Steve's jaw. "Sticky. Bath." 

Steve huffs a laugh, bending to lick at Bucky's neck. "I did promise to kiss it better, didn't I."

"Oh god." Bucky shivers, even the thought of Steve's mouth on him makes him clench up painfully. "Absolutely not." He considers. "...yet."

Steve laughs. "Spoiled." 

"Your fault.”

"Damn right," Steve says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and rolling smoothly off the couch and onto his feet. Bucky has only a moment to admire the graceful move before he's gathered up and hauled over Steve's shoulder. 

"Hey!" he squawks. 

"I figured you were too spoiled to walk," Steve says, heading down the hall.

* * *

The best part of Steve's place—aside from the big, comfortable couch and the big, comfortable bed, and the big, comfortable Steve—is Steve's big, comfortable tub. Bucky relaxes, back against Steve's chest, soothed by the warm water and the almond scent of his favorite bath oil. It's quiet, just the soft _plink_ of droplets falling from Steve's arms as he pets absently at Bucky's sore skin, hands gentle and warm as they skim over his bruised up chest and lower, tracing the soft curve of his belly and back up again. 

What would it be like to end every day this way, held close and adored. Tucked every night into the bed that smells of the both of them, Steve's clean sweat and the orange blossom scent of Bucky's shampoo, the solid weight of Steve at his back as he drifts off to sleep. The warm, comfortable scents of coffee and toast in the morning, quick kisses goodbye, not bothering to linger because they know they'll see each other in a few hours. 

Bucky snorts and shakes his head at himself. Has Steve ever kissed him absently, touched him without the full weight of his attention? Even when their focus is on something else, movies on the couch or working quietly across from each other at the dining table, Bucky can feel Steve's attention on him. Every breath, every movement and micro-expression captured and filed. It might be overwhelming for others, the intensity of Steve's attention. But for Bucky, it's grounding. A flag planted at the center of him, a claim laid. Longing, and an answering, aggressive belonging. 

"What are you snorting about?" Steve asks, husky and warm against his ear. 

"Just thinking," he says. Stevs hums in question, pressing faint kisses to his neck. "About spending every night like this."

"Why's that funny?" There's no edge to his voice, and his hands don't stop their gentle circuit. 

"It's not," Bucky sighs. "It would be nice." Nice is such an empty word.

"So why don't we?" 

It's a simple question. There should be a simple answer. But Bucky takes a shuddering breath and ducks his head. "Because what happens when it's over?" he whispers. 

Steve's hands tighten on him reflexively and then loosen, laying gentle and still over his chest. "You planning on leaving me, honey?"

"Never," Bucky blurts out. That bird in his throat is back, gone manic now, flying in circles, bashing into walls. He knows Steve can hear the frantic pounding of his heart and reaches up for his hand, pressing it to his lips. "Never if I can help it."

"So you think someone's gonna take me away from you, then?" Steve murmurs against Bucky's temple, and now he allows his hands to tighten, his arms to band around Bucky's chest, holding him close.

"No," Bucky says quietly. "Only—what happens when I get old, Steve?"

"You think that would matter to me, sweetheart? I'm a hundred and twelve years old, Buck."

Bucky swallows hard. He doesn't want to say these words out loud. "That's not what I mean. I know you won't stop loving me when I get wrinkled and frail. I know this is forever," he says quietly, truthfully. Steve's devotion has never been in question. "But it's forever for _me_, Steve. Not you." 

The thought of it makes his throat constrict painfully. He shifts, turning in Steve's hold so he can face him, wrapping his legs around Steve's hips. The expression on Steve's face is so tender and warm that Bucky feels something break in him, split open with the immensity of love he has for this man, too much for one body to hold. 

Steve cups his face, brushes a soft kiss over his trembling mouth. "Neither of us know what will happen, Buck. But I know I want to spend every second of the time we have together," he says simply, thumbing away the tear spilling over Bucky's cheek. "I love you. I want you to have everything. I want to give it to you. And if that means continuing as we are, that's okay. If that's what you need. But I don't want us to waste any of the time we have together being afraid."

"I know," Bucky says. "But I can't help it. What happens if I move in here, take up all the space you want to give me, and then I'm gone. Ten years, fifty years, who knows. I hate thinking of you having to learn to be alone again." He draws a broken breath, swallowing down the sob catching in his chest. "I _hate_ it."

"Honey, come here." Steve gathers him close, fitting Bucky's head onto his shoulder and running warm hands down his trembling back. Bucky clutches as him, pressing his ear to Steve's chest and counting the steady beats of his heart. 

"You know, I've lived a lot of lives, Buck," Steve says finally. "Sickly little asshole kid before the war, lonely and mean. Giant reckless asshole after the serum, chip on my shoulder with something to prove. Guess that hasn't changed much." He laughs softly and brushes a kiss at Bucky's temple. "But I was lost for a long time after I came out of the ice, trying to find my place in a world I didn't recognize, trying to figure out my people while fighting what seemed like never-ending wars. But I did it, Buck. I found Nat, I found Sam. Wanda and Bruce. The kids, when they came around. We built a family. I'd never had that before."

Bucky hugs him tighter. "It's a good one."

"Yeah," Steve says, the fond smile bleeding into his voice. "It used to bother me—the not knowing. The countdown clock in my head, watching everyone around me change while I stayed the same. But the Snap changed a lot of things. Changed _me_. Made me hungrier for life—a real one, not just the scraps I cobbled together between missions. I learned how to take care of myself, figured out the things I need not just to survive, but to be happy." He squeezes Bucky's hip. "I don't know what will happen in the future, Bucky. I don't even want to think about it," he says, his voice going a little rough. "I just know I want to be with you, for however long I've got you."

"Me too." Bucky chokes off a sob and wraps his arms around Steve, kissing him hard. "I just want you to be okay," he whispers against Steve's mouth. 

"I know," Steve says. "I promise I will be." He cradles Bucky's head in both hands, running rough thumbs over his cheeks, his expression so raw Bucky feels flayed open on the keen-edge of Steve's love. "This is the best life I've ever had, baby, and I just want us to _live it_, okay? Let's not waste any of it thinking about the one I might have to figure out next." 

He kisses Bucky gentle and deep, swallowing him up. He tastes like salt, and he tastes like home, and Bucky goes soft for it, easy like he always does. "Okay," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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